


I Don't Want to be Alone

by Qpenguin98



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Hitchhiking, M/M, Shiro's dead, Trans Keith (Voltron), Travel, abandon everything, idk what this is but it sure is, thats cool
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 04:05:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9367190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qpenguin98/pseuds/Qpenguin98
Summary: They come on separate days, first for Pidge, and then for him.





	

They come on separate days, first for Pidge, and then for him. When the men in uniform ask for Pidge, he knows, deep down, that it’s him next, and he consoles Pidge as they yell at nothing until the anger dies. Until with a resigned kind of quiet, they call their mother. That day, Hunk pulls out the blankets and Lance picks up their favorite comfort foods. Keith listens to them mutter obscenities under their breath until he has to physically pull them away from the newly smashed remains of Rover.

When they come for him the next week, he tells them quietly that no, he doesn’t need anyone to wait with him until someone gets home, and when they leave, he does too. He walks out with his keys and his phone, doesn’t really know where he’s going, just walks until he’s far enough away that he can breathe. He punches the falling down buildings he’s walked to, doesn’t stop until he can feel the pain throbbing up his arms, until his knuckles are slicked with enough blood that he can’t ignore it anymore.

Lance panics when he walks back into the apartment, hands red with dried on blood. Hunk wraps his hands up after making sure neither one is broken. Pidge gives him a look, and his face must give it away, because they attach themself to his side and don’t let go for the rest of the night.

Lance pushes his hair back out of his face that night, looks into his eyes and tells him he loves him. They’ve said it plenty of times before, but it hits somewhere deep and cold and painful, and he hides his face in Lance’s chest until his breaths even back out.

When the money enters his account, Keith wants to take it all out and burn it. The money can’t make up for his death, nothing can. He doesn’t want it.

Instead, he lets it sit there while he thinks about what he’s going to do. The thought of disappearing filters through his brain, and he scoffs at the stupidity of it. He shoves that thought way in the back of his brain so that he doesn’t have to deal with it.

It comes back one night at two in the morning, Lance’s slow breaths tickling the back of his neck. How simple it would be to just up and leave. He has money, he knows how to defend himself, it wouldn’t be that hard.

It scares him a little, how easy it feels to want to go. He turns around, shakes Lance’s shoulder until he wakes up.

“Hmm?” Lance mumbles, sleep muddling his features. Keith’s grip on his shoulder is tight, and it takes him a second to really wake up.

“What would you do if I left?”

Lance wakes up very quickly from that. “What do you mean if you left?”

“Not left, not… if I disappeared.” He’s not explaining it right, doesn’t have the energy left to.

“Keith, I know this really sucks right now, but let’s not jump all the way to killing ourselves, okay?”

“No,” he groans, scrubbing at his eyes. “Left here. Went somewhere else without anyone. What would you do?”

“Are we talking vacation time or an infinite time of leaving?” Lance seems a little more relaxed now. “Because I get it if you need some time away from…” he makes a hand motion between the two of them, “this. All of this. If you want me to take a step back, I can do that. Just talk to me.”

Lance has exactly no idea what Keith is talking about, and it’s fine. It’s a stupid idea wrought from feigning sleep for days. He sighs, takes one of Lance’s hands in his own.

“It’s okay. Really. Bad idea.”

Lance narrows his eyes. “What is?”

“Leaving. It’s stupid. I haven’t been sleeping and that’s what my brain said was a good idea.”

His face softens and he reaches forward to press a kiss to his forehead. “You need to sleep. I know it’s hard right now, but you have to.”

Keith nods, squeezing Lance’s hand. He knows he need to sleep, needs to push these stupid ideas out of his head. He doesn’t get any rest until hours later, and even then, it’ not for long. He wakes when he hears Lance getting up for the day, and he knows he won’t be able to go back to bed, so he doesn’t.

He gets a package in the mail later that day, when it’s just him and Pidge at the apartment. It’s filled with Shiro’s personal items. His dog tags, the sweater Hunk and Lance made from mismatched yarn, the little instant camera Keith got him for his birthday a few years ago. He’d been talking about how he liked physical copies of pictures that he could keep with him, but hated the whole process of getting them printed. The pictures he kept are in a couple card boxes. There’s more than Keith thought there would be, and when he pulls them out, it hurts.

He has the tempting urge to burn all the photographs, but instead he tucks them safely back into their boxes and pulls the sweater over his head. He doesn’t let go of the dog tags, thumbs the ridges until Pidge pulls them from his hands.

Hunk and Lance walk in later talking something about mixing pizza with spaghetti, and Hunk’s face visibly pales when he sees the sweater.

Lance organizes the box, puts the last two film packs with the camera and the card boxes, folds the remaining clothing together in a corner, piles the few books together. Keith shoves it in the back of the closet.

The next day he goes on a spree and buys all the packs of film from the nearby Target that he can. He shoves them in the box next to the camera and stares at the pictures from last year, when Matt grabbed the camera and took photos of them all, and Shiro got payback by flashing the camera right in his face. Matt’s eyes are scrunched shut in that one, and he can see Pidge behind his shoulder laughing.

“Keith,” Pidge says some time later. “I want to hit something.”

He holds out his palms until they’re done punching their feelings into them.

“Can I,” they say, coughing around the roughness in their throat. “Can I borrow your gloves?”

“Yeah,” he says, and when he pulls them off, his hands feel raw and naked. The touch of his fingers rubbing together feels wrong, and he pulls Shiro’s old ones from the box to replace his. These are softer, made from a better material, and while they don’t feel right, they feel better.

Pidge flexes their fingers in the leather of his gloves, and he covers their hands in his. Neither of them take off the gloves that night.

Pidge tries to return them the next day, but he refuses, tells them to keep them until thing get better.

Keith takes the gloves off to shower, and that’s it. They’re big on his hands, drooping around his wrists, but he’s getting used to the drag of the fabric on his skin, the spaces where he can tell they weren’t his to begin with, where they fit wrong but right at the same time.

There’s a night when Lance is in deep sleep next to him that he realizes he needs to leave. He needs to be completely cut off from this, to clear his head alone or he’s never going to move past this.

He doesn’t want to move past this, but he can’t allow himself to wallow in self-pity for any longer. It rubs his brain the wrong way. He looks down at Lance, fast asleep, relaxed as he could possibly be, and the idea of leaving stabs at something painful. He cries in the bathtub with his hands clutching at his hair.

With what little time he has to himself when they all wake up, he packs a backpack with the camera and pictures and film. He rolls clothes into the bottom part, packs hygiene stuff, his sketchbook, everything else he needs all shoved into the bag. He pushes that into the back of the closet, throws a blanket on it for good measure.

He kisses Lance silly that night, touches his face as much as he can, lets Lance play with his hair and hold his hands. Lance gives Keith a confused smile but doesn’t question anything.

When he’s asleep, Keith kisses his forehead and puts his clothes back on, fastening the knife on his belt and pulling on his coat. He thinks he’s in the clear when he swings the backpack on his shoulders, creeps his way into the living room, but Pidge is sitting in the living room working on repairs for Rover.

They look up at him with wide eyes, and he notes that they have his gloves on. Their eyes narrow as they stare at his backpack and coat.

“Where are you going so late?” they ask quietly.

“Um,” he says, glancing at the door. “I, um, I’m just, uh.”

“You’re leaving,” they say, realization dawning on their face. “You’re leaving, and you’re doing it now so no one sees you.”

“Pidge, please—”

They look hurt, and he scrubs his face with his hands.

“Just for a little bit. Please don’t wake them up. I just need to get out of here for a little bit. I’ll text you. I promise, please Pidge, I just need this.”

They sigh and turn back to Rover. “Fine. Whatever. Don’t die, I guess.”

“Pidge—”

“If you’re leaving, you should go before Lance realizes you’re not there.”

He nods, once, twice, and sucks in a breath. He goes over, pulls them into a hug, and then leaves.

\---

It’s cold outside, and he pulls the hood up over his face, blocks out the wind. He doesn’t sleep that night, just keeps walking until the sun comes up and he can catch a ride from someone. It’s a long while before someone stops for him, a nice middle aged woman in a truck. She doesn’t ask questions, and he doesn’t give answers. He’s pretty sure he falls asleep in her truck at some point, and when he wakes up, the sun’s going down. The buzzing of his phone is what wakes him. He looks down at it, sees Lance calling, and mutes it without a second thought.

He turns his phone off after that.

The woman lets him out in a city he doesn’t remember the name of, not that it really matters. He thanks her profusely and she drives off without a word.

Keith stares up at the buildings of the completely new place he’s been thrown in for a few moments before realizing it’s much warmer here than where he lives. He takes off the coat and shoves it between the straps of his bag.

He doesn’t sleep in the night time, just keeps walking. He takes pictures of things that remind him of Lance and Hunk and Pidge, buys a box of cards just to throw out the cards for the box. He labels them with dates so he knows when he’s been somewhere.

He makes it three days in that city walking on his own before he passes out against a tree from a mix of lack of sleep, lack of food, and not taking his binder off for four days. When he wakes up, he makes his way to a McDonalds and eats about half the menu before his body decides he’s had enough. Keith lets himself breathe freely in a bathroom stall for a while before putting the binder back on and facing the mirror.

The only word that comes to mind is ‘wreck.’

He turns his phone back on and he’s assaulted with messages from everyone. Pidge has threatened to track him down using his phone if they don’t call them or text them or something.

He sends them a simple “I’m alive,” and they call him immediately.

“Are you okay? Oh my god I didn’t think you were going to pick up.”

“I’m fine Pidge, I told you it’s just for a little bit.”

“I thought you meant a day or two. It’s been four. Have you been eating? You haven’t, have you?”

“Um—”

“I knew it. Go eat something you dick head.”

“I just ate, can we not with the names?”

“Yeah well, no one knew if you were okay or not because you _turned off_ your fucking phone, you jack ass. I can’t tell if you’re moving with it off.”

“Why are you tracking me again?”

“So that I know if you die, because obviously you don’t care.”

“I need some advice.”

They’re quiet for a second. “What for?”

“So I haven’t really slept in three days and I passed out on a tree earlier and I kind of look like a giant fucking mess. Should I check in somewhere?”

“If you mean a police station so we can come get you then yes, I think you should.”

“Pidge.”

“Ugh, yes you should check in somewhere. Knowing you, not sleeping for three days means you haven’t taken the binder off since you left. Or had a shower. You need to take care of yourself or you’re actually going to get arrested for something.”

He grumbles something about not getting caught by the stupid police and Pidge just sighs.

“Get free breakfast, wherever you go. I promise, it’s better than waking up and having to go somewhere to eat.”

“…Thanks.”

“Come back soon, Keith.” They sound more scared for him than they should.

“I’ll try.”

He checks into the hotel, shells out the seventy-something dollars for free breakfast the next morning, and has the best feeling sleep he’s ever had in his life.

\---

He starts finding little things for all of them wherever he goes. He takes pictures of things he knows they’d enjoy. He makes it to the Pacific and spends an entire day taking pictures of the waves and picking up shells.

The world is softer when he’s away from it.

He stays by the ocean for a while. Maybe a month, maybe more, he’s stopped keeping track of time so well. He writes vague reference times on the pictures he takes.

Lance’s birthday comes first, and he mails all the pictures he took for him and all the shells and little things he found for him in a box a few days before his birthday. He doesn’t stop taking pictures for him, but the ones up until then are no longer his to look at.

He finds an abandoned house in Nevada that he inhabits for a while. There’s a dusty bed and some books and a well, and he stays as long as his feet allow him. Here, he sends Pidge their present, the alien memorabilia he could find and fit into the box, pictures of green things, the light show that was in the night sky one of the first couple of nights he stayed there. It’s never happened again, and he’s never questioned it, just accepted it as a temporary welcome.

There’s a campground in what he thinks is Arkansas where the river water runs clear and you can see the rocks many feel below you. He sends back the water smoothed stones for hunk, picks up an old cookbook from a woman who near threatened him into staying for dinner before he said yes. He sends pictures of the people and landscapes, knows Hunk was always better seeing people than talking to them.

He doesn’t eat well, nor often. It’s a lot of fast food, things he can carry with him, munch on later and not worry about it being bad. He sticks with Pidge’s suggestion of free breakfast whenever he checks into someplace for sleep. He hasn’t slept in anyone’s car since the first day. He realized how stupid it is to let your guard down in front of strangers when someone tries to rob him at knife point.

They did not succeed.

He sends the occasional message to Pidge, letting them know he’s not dead yet, but he doesn’t respond to anything they send, and he doesn’t send anything to anyone else.

Keith’s hair gets longer, and he shoves it up in a ponytail under the hat Lance made for him last Christmas. He thinks it was last Christmas. He stopped checking the days after Hunk’s birthday had passed.

He doesn’t really know what he’s doing out here, far away from home and the people he cares about most, but it’s quiet and easy to think, and he lets that be reason enough for now.

Shiro’s gloves mold to his hands now, and he doesn’t know that it’s a good thing.

\---

It’s raining when Keith steps out of the latest car to give him a ride to exactly anywhere. They wave him goodbye with a smile. He pulls out the tiny umbrella he picked up the first time he got caught in the rain, and looks around.

The place looks familiar, but he can’t quite place it. He walks down a couple of streets to get a feel for the place when he realizes that he’s back home.

He turns and heads in the opposite direction of where he was going, which was definitely the way to his apartment, and briefly considers getting a hotel room.

It’s a stupid idea, even he’ll admit that.

He takes a second to assess himself as he steps under an awning. Even with the little umbrella, his clothes are soaked through. He hasn’t had a shower in almost a week, living off of gas station bathrooms and soap. His hair is greasy and pulled back in a now damp ponytail. His stomach makes the decision for him, sending a spike of pain through his body.

He double checks what day it is, met with the word Thursday. Pidge is always home Thursday nights, and the last time he was here, Hunk and Lance had night classes. He’s still not sure how much time has passed, only checking the day name, and decides it’s his best bet.

It’s about a thirty minute walk from where he’s at on a good day, and it is not a good day. He’s hungrier than he thought he was, and his shoes are waterlogged. He gets there in what feels like an hour, but he’s still not entirely sure.

The stairs suck, but he makes it up them. It’s a long second where he debates knocking or leaving, but the hunger hits him again, and he tentatively knocks. There’s a shuffle of movement behind the door before it opens.

Hunk stands there staring at him and Keith is frozen in place. He wasn’t meant to be home. It was meant to be Pidge. The others weren’t meant to be there.

He can tell it takes Hunk a second to realize who he is, he knows he looks different. It’s in this split second that he should have left, but he didn’t, and he stands there, shell shocked, watching as recognition floods his features.

“Hunk? Who is it?”

That’s Lance. That’s _Lance_.

Hunk seems to come back to himself with that, and he drag-hugs him into the apartment. He hears something dropping and Lance fishing for words, but all he can feels is arms around him and it’s good and safe.

Lance tries to wait his turn, but fails really badly and ends up squeezing his way into the hug anyway. He hasn’t actually touched anyone in however long he’s been gone, and feels the pinpricks of tears in his eyes.

A half-laugh makes its way out, and he shakes in their arms.

When the hugging gets too damp for either of them, they pull back.

“Jesus, you’re soaked,” Lance says, pulling at his coat and clothing. Hunk takes his bag, and Keith just stands there dumbly in the middle of their living room. He tries to take off the gloves, and Keith clenches his hands into fists. Lance frowns.

“They’ll dry faster if you take them off. I know you don’t want to, but you need to take off the gloves.”

He concedes after a second, and Lances shoves him into the bedroom. “There’s still clothes in there.”

He pauses in the doorway before pulling him back and redirecting him to the bathroom. “Shower first. Get warm.”

He hands him a folded pile of pajamas and a towel before closing the door behind him.

The hot water feels amazing, along with the not bleach-stiffed towel. He brushes his teeth, combs out his hair, puts on soft clothing, and walks back out.

Lance looks uncomfortable, like he’s not sure what to say. “Your hair got longer,” he tries.

“You look kind of dead,” Hunk says bluntly. Lance shoots him a look. “What? He does. Your eyebags have reached an all-time high. You’ve also gotten way skinnier.”

Keith takes a second to process, but ultimately laughs because it’s all true.

The door creaks open, and Keith’s eyes meet Pidge’s. They make a pained noise and turn right back around. He follows out after them quickly.

“Pidge,” he starts, voice rough from disuse.

“No,” they say, not facing him. “No no no this is not happening.”

“Pidge—”

“We thought you were dead,” they say, turning to face him. “You haven’t texted me in two months, let alone had your phone on long enough to even count. We tried to get ahold of you, but no. Nothing. And now, now you’re just here like nothing ever happened and you look so fucking unhealthy I don’t know what the fuck you did but whatever it was was the wrong way to go about it. You’re such a fucking selfish a—”

He grabs them into a hug, and they push weakly at him before giving up. They’re still wearing his gloves.

“I’m sorry,” is all he says.

They go back inside after a few minutes of just holding each other. Hunk is making mashed potatoes and something meaty that he can’t quite place and Lance latches himself onto him as soon as he comes back in.

“We got your packages,” Hunk says. “They were really nice.”

He looks up to see photos hung up around the apartment, the ones he sent. A couple are missing, and they’re probably in everyone’s personal items. Lance has one of the seashells strung around his neck. Keith touches it gently.

He doesn’t really talk all that much that night, still trying to distance himself from them all, to keep them at bay, safe from getting reattached.

The sleeping issue comes up eventually, and he’s not entirely certain where he’s meant to sleep before Lance tells him that obviously it’s going to be in his room.

More of the pictures are up there, along with the rest of the seashells, the little blue pillow he’d thrown in at the last moment.

“It sucked,” Lance says. “Waking up and finding out you were gone. It sucked a lot. I should have expected it with how weird an existential you’d gotten a couple weeks before, but it still sucked.”

Keith says nothing.

“I don’t know why you couldn’t have told me, or at least texted me to let me know you were alive sometimes. Even Pidge didn’t know all the time, and that was stupid scary to think. Oh, your boyfriend got murdered in a back alley and nobody found his body. How cool.”

He goes over to the little side table and pulls back on the now dry gloves. He crosses his arms defensively.

“Are you going to say anything.”

“I thought what I was doing was a good idea. I was right.”

“It was a stupid fucking idea, Keith.”

He stiffens, setting his jaw. “I needed to be away from all of you, from everything. It was better out there, in the woods, other cities. I see why you like the ocean so much.”

Lance bristles. “Don’t use that against me. Sure, maybe it’s fun for a bit, but Hunk’s right. You look dead. You’re shit at taking care of yourself in a set routine surrounded by people who constantly remind you to eat and shower and take the binder off. You’re terrible at that stuff. I know it had to be worse away from everything.”

“Don’t tell me what it was like.”

“Oh, please tell me! What was it like out there? Because I never heard anything from you except for on my birthday. Great timing, by the way. They all got here day of. But after that? Nothing. I didn’t get anything. No ‘oh hey just letting you know I’m actually _alive_ ’ nothing. Absolutely nothing. I get that Shiro died, but what the hell Keith?!”

“Lance—”

“No! Tell me why!”

“It hurt too much!”

Lance goes silent.

“It… I left because I needed to be away and everything was so fucking suffocating and Shiro was dead, and when I left, thinking about any of it, about any of you, hurt so much I just, I couldn’t. I’m so sorry, I just couldn’t.” His voice is cracking and he’s maybe crying.

Lance comes and takes Keith’s hands in his, and Keith just sobs.

“Okay,” Lance whispers, and it sounds hurt. “Okay, okay.”

He presses a kiss to his lips, which is something Keith never expected to feel again, and it is so good. He kisses him back with fervor and squeezes his hands tightly.

“You’re here,” Lance whispers against his lips. “You’re actually here.”

They kiss for what feels like hours, and it probably is. Lance doesn’t let go of him when they get into bed, whispers unintelligible words into his shoulder as he falls asleep.

Keith knows he can’t stay. He’s hurt them too much. He never actually meant to come back here, only wanted to stop in to sleep and maybe take a shower and say hello and goodbye to the people he loves. But now he feels stuck, like glue is drying at his feet and if he doesn’t move soon, he’ll never be able to.

So he pulls clothes on as quiet as he can, kisses Lance on the forehead one last time, and walks out of the bedroom.

He really should have expected Pidge.

Their glasses are flared in the lowlights, arms grossed accusingly.

“What the actual fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Leaving before you get too attached again.”

“Too late, dumbass.” They stand and get up close to his face. “No one ever stopped caring.”

He huffs a breath and tries to get around them, but they grab his shoulders to keep him in place. “Lance was a fucking wreck when you disappeared. I mean, we all were, because, again, everyone here actually cares about you, but he thought he did something to make you want to leave. Because he’s Lance and his first answer to everything is that it’s his fault.”

“We talked about it,” Keith says, tight lipped.

“So why are you leaving again?”

He’s quiet, because they deserve an actual answer and he has to think about it for them. It’s a mix of trying not to get attached anymore and the fact that he’s been moving around constantly for so long makes it hard for him to stay in one place. And if he stays here it’ll all come back to smack him in the face. Like Shiro. Like his parents.

“I want to stay,” he says, because he honestly does. “But I can’t. I can’t stay.”

“We can’t handle you coming and going like this. Over a year of thinking you were dead was enough.”

“I never meant to come back. It was an accident to end up in the city again.”

“It hurt me too you know.” They walk back a couple steps, and he can hear to wobble in their voice. “My family died too. And then you left. You might as well have fucking died if you’re just gonna leave again.”

Hunk choses this moment to shuffle out of his bedroom, yawning. He looks at the scene in front of him and it’s like he wakes up instantly.

“I thought you were staying,” he says in a sleepy, vulnerable voice.

That hurts somewhere deep inside of Keith. He’s starting to care too much again, he needs to get out of here, but it’s so goddamn hard.

And then Lance walks out with his hair a mess, lips puffy, stretching his arms over his head in a yawn that stops midway when he sees Keith dressed with his backpack on. His face hardens and his eyes narrow and Keith can see the betrayal and hurt and anger written plainly across his face.

“So this is how it is,” he says, accusatory. “You come back for a night, make me think you actually care again, and then disappear when we’re sleeping? You think you can just screw with us, with me like this? I’m not some toy for you to come back to whenever you feel like it, Keith. This last year you’ve been gone? This isn’t how relationships works! You have to actually talk and care about the other person.”

Keith closes his eyes for a second, breathes in deeply, and drops his bag on the floor. His coat follows, along with his wallet and keys and phone, empties his pockets, before walking out the door.

No one follows him at first, and he’s glad, because when he makes it outside, it is freezing. He walks for a while before turning into an alley and collapsing back against the bricks. The crying comes easy this time, and he allows himself to sob into his knees in the bitter early morning air.

He's not sure how long it takes Hunk to find him, but he knows the suns up where it wasn’t before.

Hunk gives him his coat and walks the both of them into a little coffee shop down the street. He orders for both of them, something warm to heat him up.

He knows Hunk’s messaged the others that he found him, but he’s pretty sure he didn’t tell them where they are, because no one else is here.

It takes almost half the cup of coffee for him to open up but he does.

“When Shiro died,” he says so only Hunk can hear him, and not the rest of the café. “It was scary. It was so scary and I felt like I had to get away from everything, that  _I_ had to get away. Disappear. Get out. And it felt really good, really, really good to leave everything behind and not tell anyone where I was. It felt so right. It was so fucking easy to distance myself because everything was gone and I didn’t have to think about it.”

Hunk hasn’t said anything, but he’s listening intently.

“A… And it feels like if I try to come back everything’ll fall apart again. And I could, I could just come back and try to get back into what we all had before, but it’s different now, and if I do something wrong it’s gonna break and I can’t deal with that.”

“If you’re going to stay,” Hunk says after finishing his drink. “It needs to be for you. But if you leave, at least send a text every couple of days so that we know you’re not dead.”

Keith is quiet for a second, rests his head on the table. “I don’t know what’s for me anymore.”

“Well,” he tries. “How about, you try it for a week. See if you can handle staying any longer. If you can’t, sure it’ll hurt, but then you’ll know.”

He’s quiet for a moment before agreeing.

\---

It’s really difficult to put himself back in, and Lance kisses him dizzy every night because he’s not sure if it’ll be the last night or not.

It’s the little things Keith starts doing, he realizes after he’s done them, that show he’s staying.

He starts hanging up the pictures from his year alone, the ocean, the forests, the desert, cities, people, anything he could take a photo of.

He buys the groceries for the week without being prompted. Food he knows everyone likes, but also foods he enjoys.

He leaves the apartment without needing to leave the city.

It’s hard, so hard sometime, when the itch to get up and go is impossible to scratch, but he makes do.

He relearns how to live.

**Author's Note:**

> wow what is this  
> i dont know  
> i really dont know im so weirded out by this idk just take it its 5 in the morning


End file.
